


Love You Til You're Seein' Stars and Stripes

by emij1s



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky calls steve's pecs tits, D/s themes, Dirty Talk, Feminization, M/M, PWP, talk of panties and lingerie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 05:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10564563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emij1s/pseuds/emij1s
Summary: It doesn’t happen after every mission. It doesn’t even happen after every mission that goes bad. But sometimes, every once in awhile, Steve gets too stuck in his own head, in his own so-called mistakes, and Bucky will be damned if he lets him stay there. It’s a delicate process, though, and it takes a certain kind of touch, a certain kind of attitude, different every time. Sometimes he needs it gentle, soft words and careful caresses. Sometimes he has to be made to say it wasn’t his fault, held right at the brink until he shouts it alongside Bucky’s name.And sometimes, he needs Bucky to get a little mean.





	

They’ve just gotten in from the debrief. The mission was a shit show, incorrect intel and unprepared agents meaning that they got much more hands on than they wanted to, and Bucky’s still favoring his right side a little. It’ll heal up quick, the bruises will be nothing but off-color green patches come morning, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a bitch, something he’s learning to admit to himself. It’s a slow process, recognizing that he’s allowed to say he’s hurt and he’s allowed to take a break, even now, when HYDRA’s control is far behind him. It’s difficult to shut that part of his brain off, especially when he’s working, and he still reaches for the muzzle just about every time he dresses up in his kevlar. Muscle memory is a hard thing to forget.

Fortunately, that muscle memory doesn’t just recall the unpleasant things. It’s easy as anything to let his hands stretch out to find Steve where his guy is working his way out of his suit, the zippers and buckles catching as he struggles a bit. Steve hasn’t learned the same lessons Bucky has, still has problems admitting when he’s hurt or sore, but Bucky saw the hit he took to the back and he knows he has to be feeling it. 

His hands are steadier than Steve’s as they help him out of the suit, leaving it in a heap on the floor and Steve standing in his undershirt and his briefs. His fingers trail gently to Steve’s stomach, light and soothing, but Steve shifts away, averts his eyes and makes some noise about getting cleaned up before disappearing into the bedroom. A few moments later Bucky hears the shower start up in their en suite, and he knows going after Steve is a lost cause.

He gets like this sometimes, when he thinks it’s his fault that things went bad. It’s the burden of being the one in charge, the leader, the captain. All that responsibility is on his shoulders, and he won’t let anyone help him carry the load, which means no one else gets the blame either. Never mind that their intel was incorrect, that he had no way of knowing he was sending them in practically blind; he made the call to move, and so in his eyes, it was his fault. He was probably standing in the shower stall, too hot water pouring down him while he drowned himself in thoughts of what he could have done differently. It was useless to try to convince him otherwise for now. So instead of going after him like he wanted, instead of dragging him out of the shower to tell him that it was okay and not his fault, Bucky disappeared into the other bathroom to shower himself. 

After their both out and clean, Bucky bustles around the kitchen, working on making them something to eat. It’s pasta, carb heavy and quick, something to get them both feeling better rather than trying to run on empty stomachs. Steve is quiet, sitting at the kitchen table, and he’s soft now, wearing sweatpants and one of those ridiculous white t shirts, cheeks flushed a faint pink from the heat of the shower and letting Bucky know he’d been right on the money earlier. The bedroom had been steamy from the open bathroom door when he’d gone to get his own clothes, and Steve had still been showering; he’d only come out a few minutes ago, when Bucky had dropped the noodles into the boiling water. He keeps his eyes on the open cabinet in front of him, scanning the ingredients, but he’s hyper aware of Steve behind him. 

“White or red?” he asks softly, still not looking over at him, instead acting as if the sauce jars in front of him have all his focus.

“Hm,” is all he gets in return, a quiet sound of acknowledgement that lets him know Steve heard his voice, but not what he said. Bucky isn’t surprised. He knows that if he looks back, he’ll see Steve staring blankly forward, his brow pinched in that thoughtful way of his. He grabs the white jar. 

Dinner is quick, quiet sounds of forks clinking on plates and glasses being set down on the table the only thing in the room. When they’re done, Steve stands to go do the dishes, but Bucky catches his bicep in a careful but firm grip. 

“They can wait,” is all he says, and he begins to steer Steve towards the bedroom. He goes along easy, and Bucky casts him a glance; that far-away look is back in his eyes. 

It doesn’t happen after every mission. It doesn’t even happen after every mission that goes bad. But sometimes, every once in awhile, Steve gets too stuck in his own head, in his own so-called mistakes, and Bucky will be damned if he lets him stay there. It’s a delicate process, though, and it takes a certain kind of touch, a certain kind of attitude, different every time. Sometimes he needs it gentle, soft words and gentle caresses. Sometimes he has to be made to say it wasn’t his fault, held right at the brink until he shouts it alongside Bucky’s name.

And sometimes, he needs Bucky to get a little mean.

Once they reach their bedroom, he shifts, the hand on Steve’s bicep tightening to push him to the wall. He hits it with a soft oof, and he blinks at him, and okay, good, he’s already got his attention. His hands find Steve’s sides, skating down them to slip beneath the hem of his thin shirt, and this time, Steve doesn’t pull away, abs twitching at the touch. 

“Buck,” he says, but it isn’t a warning or a reprimand, just a quiet murmur of his name, not asking for anything. Bucky ignores him, rucks his shirt up until it’s barely covering his chest, his stomach exposed, and drags the nails of his right hand down that pale skin, slow and deliberate. Steve inhales shakily.

“You been quiet tonight, baby,” he says conversationally. He leans in, like he’s going to kiss Steve, and watches the way he tilts his chin up the smallest bit. His baby gets so responsive, but that doesn’t mean he’s feeling good. Not yet. He skips his mouth, instead pressing his lips to that defined jawline, tracing it up with light kisses until he finds that soft spot beneath Steve’s ear. His tongue teases the skin, then he bites down hard, earning a little squeak from Steve and strong hands flying out to grab Bucky’s hips. He pulls away immediately. 

“I didn’t say you could touch me,” he snaps, and he grips Steve’s wrists, lifting them up to above his head and pinning them there with the metal arm. The plates shift and recalibrate, drawing Steve’s now-wide eyes, and Bucky barely holds back a smirk. Steve’s got such a damn thing for the arm, and Bucky isn’t above taking advantage of it. But not yet. He has other plans for his boy.  
His right hand pushes Steve’s shirt up higher, under his armpits, exposing his chest, and just because he wants to see him blush, he coos at him, “There’s those pretty tits.” Steve doesn’t disappoint. His cheeks flame pink, and he catches that full lower lip in his teeth, worrying on it hard. 

Bucky ducks his head to kiss along the swell of his pec, scraping his teeth against the curve, making Steve whine, but after a few moments, he whispers out, “Ain’t tits,” and Bucky laughs. 

“Look like tits,” he says, his mouth moving down to find a nipple, swirling his tongue around it, and he raises his hand to cup the muscle, getting a handful and squeezing. “Feel like tits.” He drags the edge of his nail over his nipple, making Steve inhale sharply and arch into his touch. “Act like tits.” He lifts his eyes to meet Steve’s, smirking. “So they’re tits.” Steve wants to look away, he can see it in his eyes, but he’s stuck, staring at Bucky with those baby blues and his lips parted, tongue darting out to drag along them. Bucky wants to lean in, suck and bite at his mouth until it’s red and hot, but he can’t, not yet. He wants to get Steve a little more wrecked before he gives in. He pulls away, releasing Steve’s wrists. His boy looks disappointed. 

Once he’s released, Steve’s hands reach towards his shirt, either to pull it off or pull it down, and Bucky moves over to him, making quick work of tugging the thin fabric up over his head but keeping it on his arms. It frames those broad shoulders just like that damn shield harness, and pulls them back a little, making Steve’s chest press out. That blush starts to carry down a little lower. Bucky gives him a little push, jolting him forwards. “Get on the bed, on your back,” he orders, and Steve, as always, listens.

He’s starting to get easy, eyes a little glassy, but not like they were before. Those sweatpants, bless them, leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, and he can see that thick cock perking up. Looks like Steve decided to forego his briefs, and Bucky feels a little let down at the thought; he likes teasing him about them, about how the tight fabric wraps around his thighs, about how he can just shift the waistband and his cock pops out, eager as anything. Oh well. Another time. 

Bucky strips quickly, and he climbs up onto the bed, settling over Steve’s hips. He takes Steve’s wrists again, and presses them to the pillows, gently guiding his fingers to wrap around the headboard. “Keep them there,” he tells him, and yeah, he could get the extra strength rope and tie him down, but he wants to see Steve struggle. He wants to watch his boy fight so hard to be good, to see those thick muscles in his arms bulge as he squeezes the iron in his hands. 

His hands drag down his arms, fingertips teasing, just to watch the way Steve shivers. Bucky’s barely really touched him, and already he’s panting softly, chest rising and falling with each breath, drawing his focus back to his pecs. His hands continue down, finding them again, squeezing hard and pushing them together. Steve twitches up. Bucky hums. “Pretty,” he murmurs absently, and he continues on, shifting to find Steve’s throat with his mouth. “That’s my pretty baby, ain’t it? So easy for me. Just gotta call you a couple a’ nice names and you start pantin’ for it.” That Brooklyn drawl falls from his mouth effortlessly, and Steve squirms.  
“Ain’t easy,” he refutes, but his voice is breathy. Bucky laughs at him again, a hard edge to the sound. 

“Sweetheart, all I did was make you show off your tits and put you on your back, and you’re already hard. If you were a dame, you’d be soakin’ your panties.” Steve gives a little whine, and oh, isn’t that a thought. Bucky keeps talking.

“You like that idea, sugar?” he asks, nipping at the line of his neck. “I wouldn’t say no to seein’ you in some lace. All dressed up and showin’ off like a little slut.” Steve jerks beneath Bucky, but his hands stay where they’re put. Bucky looks up, and Steve’s got his eyes closed tight, lower lip caught between his teeth. He pauses. “Color, sweetheart,” he says, and his voice is gentle this time, honest, hand raising to rest on Steve’s cheek and trace his sharp cheekbone with his thumb. It takes Steve a second, like he’s thinking about it, but after a few moments he nods.

“Green,” he whispers, and he opens his eyes again, dark blue and borderline needy. Bucky nods, doesn’t press. He trusts him.

“Good boy,” he allows, and Steve’s lips twitch a little, only to drop open with a gasp when Bucky’s metal fingers twist a nipple. They aren’t cold, warmed from Steve’s body heat and their proximity, but they’re strong, no give in them, and he can see that he likes it. He can feel the way his cock twitches behind him.

“Maybe I wouldn’t stop at the panties,” Bucky continues, rattling off like he’s got all the time in the world, which honestly, he does. He could keep Steve like this for hours, all night if he wanted to, breathless and panting and making his chest heave. “Maybe I’ll get you a pretty little teddy. Something soft and sweet to fill up with these tits.” He drops down, mouthing at the space between Steve’s pecs. “And you’d wear it, wouldn’t you? Because I told you to. You’d do anything I told you to, right sweetheart?” His voice turns mockingly sweet, and Steve whimpers faintly. 

 

“Yes,” he breathes out, and Bucky twists his nipple again, forcing a whine from his throat. He just looks so good, arching up into the touch as if to lessen it, but Bucky just pulls, and when he lets go, Steve’s nipple is hard and the skin around it is red, irritated. Pretty. He tells Steve so, and his baby turns his head, tucking his face into his bicep as well as he can. Bucky lets him. 

“I’d dress you up all nice, baby. Make you show off for me, bend you over so I can see how the lace stretches over that ass and how your tits try to spill right out of the top. Make you play with yourself, pull the top down and push the panties to the side so you can get your fingers in your tight little hole. You want that?” Bucky can tell he does, can see that blush spread and feel the way his legs follow suit, hips twitching up. His boy must be aching by now. But he wants him to tell him.

“Yes,” he says again, and Bucky tsks softly. 

“Yes what? You want it? What do you want, baby?” he asks, and there has to be some special place in hell for him, for loving how embarrassed Steve looks. He drags his hands away from Steve’s chest, gentle and soothing, moving until he can drag Steve’s sweatpants down. His cock is hard, wet, and he circles it with his metal hand, stroking slowly, nothing more than a tease. “Tell me you want it. Tell me what you want.” Steve shakes his head, and Bucky tightens his grip. “Tell. Me,” he says firmly, squeezing, “Before I flip you over and turn that cute little ass red.” Steve gasps sharply. 

“I-I want it,” he gets out, and he continues before Bucky has to get onto him again. “I want--I want you to dress me up, put me in--in panties and m-make me show off for you.” Bucky laughs again, and Steve’s face twists miserably, but his cock twitches in his hand. 

“What do you want to show off?” Bucky goads him, and he starts to stroke him again, a reward for listening, for doing what he was told. Steve just about sobs when he twists his wrist just right at the head. “Tell me, doll. You know you gotta tell me.” Steve does know, knows that if he wants anything more, if he wants this to go past Bucky’s lazy touches to his cock that will only lead to a ruined orgasm, he’s gotta do what he’s told. He’s gotta give Bucky what he wants before he gets what he’s after. 

“M-My...My ass,” he manages, and Jesus, he’s turning into a cherry, just about. It’s beautiful, and Bucky watches the color spread. “I wanna finger myself open for you, get myself stretched while you watch. Let you fuck me with the panties on.” He sounds wrecked already, voice trembling just as hard as his hands are, and Bucky hears the metal of the headboard groan, and looks up. Steve’s white knuckled, clutching it like a lifeline. He’d think about how they’re gonna need to replace it soon, if he wasn’t so turned on it hurt. 

“What else?” Bucky squeezes him gently, flesh hand rising back to Steve’s chest, just in case he needs a reminder. “What else do you wanna show me?” Steve’s face goes impossibly redder, and Bucky flicks his nipple, making him twitch hard and his thighs clench, but not close. He’s silent for a few more moments, long enough that Bucky nearly asks him for a color again, but he speaks up.

“My tits,” he whispers, clearly so embarrassed, and God, Bucky loves it. How can he not? His boy is blushing so hard, so prettily, looking seconds away from begging. “I wanna...Wanna show you my tits. In--in a teddy. In some lace, dressed up all pretty. I wanna show off and be your little, your little slut, Bucky, just yours, all yours.” It’s like a drug, Steve’s obvious submission, and Bucky’s high on it, moaning loudly and finally leaning down to crash their lips together, biting hard and claiming his baby’s mouth.

“Damn right,” he growls, and Steve makes the most delicious sound, Bucky wants to eat it all up. “All mine, baby. My pretty little thing, mine to hold and fuck and touch however I want. Good boy, such a good slut, you listen so well.” He pulls back as he speaks, but keeps a hand on Steve, releasing his cock to grip his hip and let him know he isn’t going anywhere as he nearly yanks the bedside drawer off its track in his haste to get the lube.  
He finds it after a little digging, shoving aside the condoms--why do they even _have those_ \--that are in the way, and pops the cap to pour it onto his fingers.

“Wait,” comes Steve soft voice, and Bucky freezes where he is. It isn’t a color, it isn’t a safeword, but he listens anyway, eyes immediately darting to Steve’s face. He looks wrecked, lips kissed and bitten swollen, eyes hazy in that way that had been Bucky’s goal from the beginning, but before he can ask if he’s okay, Steve’s continuing. “The--the left one. Please?” He asks so sweet it makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat, and he gives his boy a little smile. 

“Sure, sweet thing,” he replies, and he shifts hands, pouring the lube over his metal fingers. He can indulge him, now that he’s got him where he wants him. He can give him what he’s after. And he wants it, he can see it in the way his eyes dilate until hardly any of the blue is showing, in how he licks over his lips as he eases that first digit inside him. The moan Steve gives is nearly pornographic, and Bucky’s cock twitches. “I got you, honey,” he coos at him, and Steve shifts.

“Hurry up, Buck, please?” And if Steve keeps asking so sweetly and nicely he’s gonna make Bucky finish before he even gets inside him. He huffs softly. 

“Impatient?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for a reply. He works Steve open quickly, eyes fixed to how he stretches around his fingers, but careful, so, so careful with this hand inside him. He can’t feel with this one like he can with the other, doesn’t know if he might be hurting him, but the enthusiastic sounds Steve is letting out assure him that he’s doing okay. Minutes later he’s ready, and Steve is squeezing the headboard so hard his shoulders are shaking beneath the fabric of his t shirt, and Bucky eases his fingers out. 

“You can let go, baby,” he says gently as he grips Steve’s legs beneath his knees and hefts them up, spreading Steve wide and getting a surprised squeak out of him. Steve’s arms fall immediately with a groan, the sound quickly turning needy when Bucky rubs against his hole gently. “You want it?” he asks, because Bucky Barnes is nothing if not a little shit, and he can’t resist teasing him a little bit more. 

“ _Please_ ,” Steve gasps, and when Bucky looks at his face, there’s the smallest hint of wetness to his eyes, and he can’t hold back; he pushes into him hard, making Steve’s eyes roll and his head drop back. “Yes, oh fuck, Bucky, _yes_ ,” he says, and his eagerness and the way Bucky’s so hard he’s pretty sure he could cut glass means that caution and gentleness go right out the fucking window.

He fucks Steve like he knows he wants it, hard and rough and angled just right, drawing hoarse shouts from his baby as he fucks him into the mattress. He shifts, throwing Steve’s legs around him so he can lean over him, and Steve’s hands find his back immediately, nails dragging down his back and only egging him on harder. 

“Bucky, I’m--Jesus, I--” And Bucky knows what he’s trying to say, he can feel it in the way Steve is shaking and tightening around him. He has his right arm out, bracing his weight, and his left slides down, slick fingers wrapping around Steve’s cock. 

“Come for me, babydoll,” he grits out, because he’s so goddamn close, but fuck if he’s going to finish before Steve after how much he tortured him. Neither of them will last long, they know it, and when Steve clenches around him and screams his name for anybody to hear and makes a mess all over his own stomach, Bucky’s following right after him, sinking his teeth into the meat of Steve’s shoulder and coming deep inside him. 

Steve goes limp beneath him, and Bucky barely manages to not fall right atop him, panting harshly as Steve’s hands paw weakly at his back. They stay like that for a few long minutes, Bucky letting Steve grope and grab at him while he comes back to himself, and Bucky’s arm trembling faintly to keep him up until he shifts, left arm finding the bed and locking in place so he can stay up. He mumbles soft, sweet reassurances to Steve, kissing whatever skin he can reach, telling him how good he is, how sweet, how perfect, until Steve finds his voice again. 

“Bucky,” he mumbles faintly, and Bucky hums softly. 

“Right here, baby,” he whispers, and he pulls out as gently as he can, wincing at the quiet, almost hurt sound Steve makes. “Lemme get a wash cloth,” he murmurs, kissing the bite mark he left on Steve’s shoulder, but Steve’s hands tighten on him and don’t let him move. 

“It can wait,” he mumbles, slurred, and Bucky laughs softly. 

“Gonna regret that later.” Steve just huffs, nuzzling at Bucky’s neck. 

“Later’s later. This is now. Stay,” he demands, needy and bratty and just what Bucky was trying to get him to be. He can’t help but smile softly, shifting them so he can lay next to Steve, drawing his guy into his arms after he gently frees him from the surely stretched beyond salvation t shirt on his shoulders.

“Fine, later,” he agrees, kissing Steve’s forehead and letting him tuck himself into his neck. “Now sleep, baby.” 

And he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Gold Trans Am by Kesha. This work is unbetaed, so any mistakes are my own. This is my first work in the Marvel fandom, so comments and critiques are more than welcome! Find me [here](http://stevebuckyrps.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you like!


End file.
